


A Letter From Hamlet to Horatio about Gender Dysphoria

by remuslupine



Category: Hamlet - All Media Types, Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, M/M, Some Humor, Trans Character, Trans Hamlet, Trans Male Character, hamlet is a drama queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 14:50:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20293261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remuslupine/pseuds/remuslupine
Summary: Hamlet writes a letter to tell Horatio that he is transgender.





	A Letter From Hamlet to Horatio about Gender Dysphoria

**Author's Note:**

> I don't expect anyone to read this. I wrote this because I searched the trans Hamlet tag and was disappointed to find almost nothing. Also, I was experiencing pretty bad gender dysphoria. There is a lot more background that is not revealed in this letter because it only exists in my head. To fill in some context: Hamlet is an only child and heir to the throne. Because of this, he is given a lot of freedoms usually reserved for boys. He goes to a boy's school, but receives a girl's education at home. Hamlet and Horatio grew up together. This is written the summer before they go to university (because I leave for college in 5 days), and they are going to room together. Horatio is an orphan whose education is funded by the king. Hamlet has a dog named Ollie who he can't take with him. I have literally no idea when this is set. I'm aiming for the canon time period, but I'm sure there are many anachronisms so who knows ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

My dearest friend, 

Partially, I am writing to you in anticipation of my travel to university this month. Please disregard what I said in my previous letter about my mother. We got into another argument last Saturday, after which she has resigned to take Ollie during the fall and spring semesters. Hooray for that, honestly, she can be so stubborn sometimes. I can’t wait to start school so I can live on my own. On my own with you, of course.

More importantly, I am writing to tell you something about myself. I want to tell you in person, but somehow, I feel I won’t be able to phrase it correctly. It’s sort of a big deal, and I want to give you time to think it over without my influence.

I am a man. I have had the feeling that I was a man for a long time now, but I did not know what the feeling meant, or if it was legitimate. This summer I did some thinking, as well as some reading, and I found myself reflecting on the great texts of history. I cannot tell you of the ecstasy some of these records sent me into. Dozens of accounts, dating back to the Roman Empire, of God getting it wrong. Men born as women, women born as men, and the possibility of switching over, or falling in between. Priests and patricians and ancient Gods, all like me! All born the wrong sex. These texts assured me my feelings were not anomalous, but legitimate, and pointed towards a solution.

Before I reveal my solution, I ask that you indulge me an account of my daily pain living as a woman, so I may explain my course of action, and perhaps relieve just an ounce of my suffering.

I don’t often feel like myself. It is not just the roles that are laid before me by my sex; I relish more freedoms than any woman I know. It is the feeling that, though alone in my chambers, away from the prickling gaze of others, I am still somehow wrong. My flesh surrounds me like a prison, and in the darkest hours of the night, I dream of severing it from my being. Oh, Horatio! How I sometimes wish that this flesh would melt! When I speak, my voice comes out like the girlish whistling of a flute, and I am reminded that I am small, and weak, and feminine. It leaves me for hours in agony. The soft roundness of my cheeks, like marble on another woman, I want only to rip from my skull. And my petticoats, made from the finest fabrics in Denmark, of pinks and blues and purples, are clearly things of beauty. However, on my figure, they seem ill-fitting, and I find I much prefer the rough leather of my riding boots and trousers. Almost a month ago now, I stole into my father’s chambers and wore for the first time the clothing of a man. Anon, I felt the burden of corsets and layers of petticoats lifted, along with the crippling weight of the wrong sex! It was then that I resigned to change it and to live as a man.

You are the first I have told of these feelings. I am forever grateful for your friendship and eternal love, and return it ten fold. However, following this revelation, I need one more thing from you. I will come to school wearing skirts so as not to ignite suspicion from my mother. I ask that you bring an extra set of your clothes, or perhaps borrow from a boy at the home. Assure him he will be paid in full and more for his garments. Do not steal! 

Bring these clothes to our dorm the moment you arrive, so I may change. I will be a new student, a ward of the king’s. The Princess of Denmark does not attend Wittenberg anymore.

I have already cut my hair (very poorly, unfortunately. I need your assistance), which is at this moment hidden under a cap, though my mother will discover it eventually. Until then, I anxiously await the day I can leave Elsinore and join you to start my life anew.

Horatio, I miss you as a sick man misses his health, as the night misses the sun, and the worm misses the spring’s nectarine rain. By imparting this news to you in such detail, I hope only to strengthen our bond. With this letter, as always, I send you my heart.

Yours,

Prince Hamlet


End file.
